by Cameron Bane
And just like on Star Trek, it slid open.
I paused a few seconds while my eyes adjusted. In contrast with the bright, almost acrid yellow light in the hallway, the dorm’s illumination was a muted blue.
Silently I crept three steps in, and the door slid closed behind me. Timer or electric eye, I couldn’t be sure which. I hoped it was the latter, because if my luck held there would be two of us leaving this room, and it wouldn’t do to be locked in.
As Shelly had related, there were twelve hospital beds, each holding a sleeping form. As I peered around, a crazy and unwelcome thought stole into my mind. What if this was the wrong dorm, and instead of helpless young girls, these bunks held a dozen highly-trained, razor-honed, ill-tempered commandos? Things would turn interesting in a quick hurry, no doubt. But I learned a long time ago that what my Granny said was absolutely the truth: you have to walk straight into what you don’t dare run away from.
At the foot of each bed hung a mounted beige plastic rack holding an electronic pad, glowing a soft green. The screen contained the name of the bed’s occupant as well as a bunch of obscure medical terms that meant less than nothing to me. I began moving silently down the row, checking the names.
The sixth bed down, I found her.
Chapter Twenty-three
Bending low, I gently pulled the covers away from the girl’s face. On the luminescent data pad Sarah Cahill was listed simply as Raven, no last name. She pretty much matched the picture Jacob had given me of her.
I shook her softly. No response. I shook her a little harder, and her eyes snapped open. Before she could react I clamped my hand over her mouth. Her dark eyes grew huge and she began to twist, fighting me. She must have thought I was there to rape her.
Pressing down harder while trying my best not to hurt her, my whisper was stern. “I’m a friend, Sarah. Your father sent me to get you out.”
Like a spooked horse, she rolled her eyes my way. I wasn’t sure if she was getting it.
“A friend,” I muttered harshly again. “Of your father Jacob. My name’s John.”
She shuddered once more, and grew still. Her gaze still locked on mine, it seemed understanding dawned then, and she nodded.
I put my mouth close to her ear. “I’m going to pull my hand away. Please don’t make a sound. Okay?”
She nodded again. This was the moment of truth. If sometime during her captivity here the girl had been brainwashed, she would scream. And that would be that. A guard—or two, or ten—would appear, and the situation would turn terminally ugly.
I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until my hand was completely withdrawn. Sarah blinked then, and said in a hushed voice, “Who did you say you were?”
Relief rushed in. “John Brenner,” I answered softly. “Your dad sent me.”
Tears welled up. “My—my father?”
I patted her hand. “Shh. You gave everybody quite a turn, kiddo.”
“But—”
Lightly I placed my finger on her cracked lips. “Later.” In the next bed over, another prisoner, a girl who looked to be near Sarah’s age, turned over and mumbled something in her sleep. Again I bent low, whispering adamantly, “We need to leave. Now.”
“But the others—?”
“We’ll get them out. I give you my word.”
If all went well, that is. Shelly had promised me she’d delay her and her son’s flight for a few hours; if I hadn’t contacted her by that time, she was to call in as much help as she could muster: Sheriff Hardesty and the state police for starters, and then the Feds and the National Guard if that didn’t work. That was my backup plan. And now that Seth was MIA, it seemed to be my only plan.
“Do I have time to change my clothes?” Sarah voiced the question quietly.
My answer was just as muted. “No time. We gotta go.”
She nodded once more and slid out of bed. I saw she was wearing some sort of shapeless sweatshirt outfit as her sleeping gear, and with a start I realized how small and frail she was, barely topping five feet. Size wise Sarah Cahill really wasn’t much more than a kid. My thoughts toward Eli Cross and his son grew increasingly darker.
That prompted me to murmur, “Are you dizzy? Are you strong enough to walk?”
“What do you mean?”
“Have they been feeding you?”
“Yes.” She seemed hesitant. “But it’s awful. Some kind of nutrient paste, I think. It makes some of the girls sick.”
I wondered if she was one of those. “You?”
“Sometimes …” Again her eyes filled. “I just want to go home.”
“Me too.” I held out my hand. “So let’s rock.”
Taking her small hand in mine, we began padding back toward the door. As we went I cast an eye on the other girls. They didn’t stir.
Reaching the portal, it silently slid open. I turned to Sarah with a reassuring smile. A short walk past an unconscious Nurse Mario, an elevator trip, a golf cart ride, and we were home free. Holding the girl at arm’s length behind me, we stepped through.
And ran smack into Doctor Ernst Manfred.
The old man and I rebounded off each other, both of us just barely keeping our footing. I didn’t have time to say a word, or even check Sarah’s reaction. Because at that same split second something very hard crashed into the back of my skull, and the world went black.
*
Somebody—maybe it was Granny—had once said there was nothing to life, really: all you had to do was make sure you woke up one more time than you fell asleep.
Good advice, but right then sleeping was sounding good. At least it beat the awful pounding in my head. Bright, glaring light flashed everywhere, lancing past my eyeballs and darting through the highways of my brain like a thousand white-hot needles.
I groaned, not much caring who heard me. I’d been concussed before, both in sports and combat, and now it seemed I had been again.
A blurry shadow crossed my vision, momentarily shutting out a bit of that harsh candlepower. Squinting up, straining to focus, I tried lifting my hand to shield my eyes, to no avail. It was only then I came to the realization I was sitting bolt upright in some sort of metal chair, and was clamped to the thing as tightly as a trussed-up, county fair hog.
Before I could think more on it I felt a stinging sensation in my arm, and a second later someone behind me withdrew a syringe from my right triceps.
Whatever the stuff was, it worked fast. That’s when another piece of news registered. Before securing me to the chair, somebody had removed half of my clothing, including my wallet, suit coat, dress shirt, tie, belt, watch, and Blackberry, leaving me clad only in my pants, socks, dress boots, and undershirt. And my BVDs, I hoped.
Oddly, they’d left my wedding ring alone. Why hadn’t they stripped me completely naked? For some reason that bothered me more than anything. Not surprisingly, the guns, both Shelly’s Glock and my Browning, and the extra magazines, were missing too, as well as my go bag with my dive knife, my flash bangs, my Starlite goggles, everything that was in it.
“Welcome back, Mr. Brenner.”
I squinted at the indistinct figure, trying to see who it was. That made my vision swim, causing my mind to feel like a garden slug crawling along in a heavy fog. As my sight gradually continued to clear the figure deliquesced into that of Eli Cross. He was still wearing the same suit from earlier in the day.
“How … long …?” I rasped. I felt like I had the world’s worst hangover.
“Were you out? About two hours.” He went on, disapproval in his face, “I’m sorry Charles struck you so hard. Sometimes he gets carried away. Rest assured, I’ve spoken to him about it. The injection he just administered should take effect soon. Until then, please relax. Were I you, I’d use the next few moments for introspection. The next sequence of events is entirely your call.”
What sequence? Each word, each sound reverberated inside my skull, and my thoughts were as bitter as gall. This supposed “rescue” of Sarah
had gone entirely too smoothly. I’d erred badly, and made the same rookie mistake I’d always warned my men against: don’t get cocky. Unexpected complications were part of any op, and stupidly, I’d pushed that aside. By losing focus, I’d made the worst mistake a soldier can make. I’d gotten emotionally involved in an operation.
An almost tangible wave of defeat washed over me as I bitterly realized I’d been effortlessly and completely snared. Now it seemed Sarah and I were going to pay for that with our lives. It was a wonder the two of us hadn’t been tossed into the Pit already. I just hoped Eli would have the decency to kill us first.
But that megalomaniac was right about the injection. Whatever Boneless had given me worked fast. Within another twenty seconds the pain ringing in my head had receded by at least a third, coalescing into a dull pounding slam.
Speaking of our friend Boneless Chuck, there he was, standing next to his dad, both of them looking like a couple of bookends from hell. They were smiling at me as if I was a long-lost relative, only now come home.
I surveyed the room I was in. I had no idea what level we were on, but my cell was maybe ten by ten or so, with the chair I was secured in bolted dead center to the floor. The wall directly across from me wasn’t metal; instead it appeared to be one solid mirror, top to bottom, side to side. I was well-acquainted with these. Two-way glass.
On my right side, just out of reach, stood a long, narrow table on wheels, like you might find used in surgery. But it didn’t hold just the items of a surgeon’s trade. Resting on its surface were more straps, along with spiky tools, small saws, long-handled ratchet gizmos, and more odd knives and razor-sharp blades than you’d find in a cutlery shop. I swallowed. I bet I could guess who Eli and Boneless planned to use them on. Worse, in the middle of that clutter, and tantalizingly just out of reach, rested my gear, including both guns I’d brought. Beside them sat a blue folder.
The wall on my left, incongruously, held two immense, deep red leather Morris chairs facing mine. Between them stood a tall metal ashtray on a fancy white marble stand. For all the world it looked as the objects had been lifted whole from the smoking room at a London gentleman’s club.
Seeing that, I suddenly knew what they were for, and I grew cold. A couple of people could sit comfortably in those chairs and watch as various and sundry tortures were inflicted on the poor, luckless wretch clamped down before them. In this case, me.
Eli smiled. “How are you feeling now, Mr. Brenner?”
“Oh, top-notch.” My reply held more bravado than was warranted, my slurred speech sounding hollow in my ears. In truth, I was taking inventory. The back of my head pulsed with incessant pain, and even without being able to touch it, I knew it was pulpy and crusted with blood.
“Excellent.”
“And I’ll ask, since I know you want me to. What tipped you off?”
This time he laughed. It sounded deep and genuine, as if we were a couple of good friends enjoying a fine evening. “Your thumb.”
I knew it, but I played dumb. “What?”
“Your thumb. There’s a micro scanner built into the button next to my door. We’ve been having a few problems with it, but it seems to be working fine now.”
Security glitches. That’s why I hadn’t been rushed by guards when I’d installed the virus into their computer system.
Eli continued, “This morning when you pressed the button, your thumbprint was instantly scanned into our system. By the time you and I were finished with our business, your complete dossier had been accessed and downloaded.” He turned. “Charles, if you would be so kind?”
Silently his son handed him the blue folder from the surgical table.
“Thank you.” Opening it, Eli began to read aloud. “John Jebstuart Brenner was born in the poverty-stricken coal town of Gibbs, West Virginia, on May 8, 1972. His mother Alice, a seamstress, disappeared when he was four, leaving him to be reared by his frequently out of work alcoholic father, Sam, and his paternal grandmother, Maxine.”
I was highly ticked that anyone had the temerity to break my privacy, especially him.
“This report says as a youth you were an unusually good student, graduating from high school when you were only sixteen. This gained you a scholarship to college, the first anyone from Gibbs had ever received. After graduating magna cum laude from Ohio State University with a bachelor’s in pre-law, and doing so in only three and a half years, you then joined the Cincinnati police force as a uniformed officer. Two years later, on a night you were working the late shift, your pregnant wife—” He cocked an eyebrow. “A boy, wasn’t it?—and small daughter were killed in an unfortunate accident. Shortly thereafter you resigned from the CPD and joined the service. The United States Army, to be exact.”
He turned the page. Why he thought it was important I hear this, I have no idea.
“After basic training you applied for, and were accepted into, the 101st Airborne Rangers. There you were an exceptional soldier, quickly gaining your officer’s commission. Overseas you earned the Bronze and Silver Stars, the Distinguished Service Cross, as well as many other accolades.” Looking up and marking the page with his finger, he regarded me. “It seems you thrive on danger.” He paused. “Or is it a death wish?”
He was right about that. I did have a death wish. His.
Eli returned to the document. “You served with distinction in several theaters of combat, earning more commendations. And that’s when the wheels fell off. In early 2006, while on a night mission in Iraq, your unit was attacked by insurgent forces, and your entire command was wiped out. All except you, of course.” He smiled. “I’ve heard when that happens, frequently the one who survives is consumed with guilt. Is that true, Mr. Brenner?”
I didn’t respond.
“But here’s the real pity. Right before that incident you’d been selected for Delta Force training, which is made up of top members of the Special Forces branches of the armed services. Quite an accomplishment. However, due to your debilitating injuries that appointment was never to come to fruition for you. After being airlifted away from that last battlefield, your journey ended at Walter Reed Hospital, where during your year’s stay you learned to walk again.” He smiled. “Rather like a broken toy soldier they’d tried to fix.”
He closed the folder. “I won’t go on. You know the story, after all. So you see, I knew all about you even before you’d left my office.” His lips twisted unnaturally in grim humor. “That’s aggravating, isn’t it? I mean, for you.”
Reading the scorn in his eyes, I said, “So I was dead before I’d even started. But that begs the question. Why didn’t you kill me right away? Why let me keep up the charade?”
Boneless chimed in as he crouched down next to me, “Yours was the first serious security breach we’ve encountered here, Mr. Brenner. We wanted to put our system through its paces.” His aspect was frigid. “We found it works admirably.”
“My son is quite right.” Eli’s lifeless eyes crawled across my face. “And you won’t be needing this any more. But I did want you to watch.” With that he snatched up my Blackberry from the table and hurled it to the floor.
As I stared at the smashed remains, the old man said calmly, “Didn’t you wonder at the metal around us? Did you think that was done simply for the architectural design?”
Remaining mute, I reflected on the loss of my only means of communication.
Boneless stood up. “I’m sure Albert Trask told you everything here is state of the art. And so it is.” He motioned around with one skinny arm. “The floors, the ceilings, even the walls themselves all contain the latest in scanning technology. We hoped one day to give our system a real-world, real-time test.” He nodded. “For that we thank you.”
“Glad to oblige.” I licked my lips, tasting blood. “Now what?”
Eli’s voice was the very tone of reason as he walked over and sat in one of the Morris chairs. “Why, as I said before, that depends entirely on you, Mr. Brenner. You know you’ll d
ie here, of course.”
I didn’t answer.
“When and how that happens, however, depends solely on how cooperative you are with Charles.”
“I don’t understand.” But I did. God help me, I did.
Crossing his legs he sighed, the schoolmaster with the backward pupil. “Simply put, Charles will ask you some questions. You will, in due course, answer those questions. Your straightforwardness, as well as the alacrity of your answers, will wholly determine how quickly your death will transpire. And my son is more than willing to take all the time he needs.”
Boneless stared, looking at me with fresh interest, seeming to revel in perverse anticipation at the idea.
“Then we’re in for one long night,” I said, lifting my head by degrees and looking him straight in the eye. “Because I don’t know shit.”
Eli scowled good-naturedly. “Don’t sell yourself short. I’d bet you’d be surprised at how much you’re willing to tell us. Especially around the fourth hour.” He turned to his son. “Isn’t that right, Charles? The fourth hour is usually when the cooperation really starts?”
Boneless kept his predatory gaze on me. “Yes. About then. However, given your special proclivities, you may prove to be a more … lasting pleasure.”
My mouth felt as dry as cornflakes. “You said I was the first one you’d captured.”
“On site, yes.” Eli motioned with is hand. “Even so, this room has seen much use in the past two years. Many have sat where you’re sitting. And doubtless thinking what you are at this very minute.”
Well, maybe. My thoughts were split between cursing myself for an idiot, and wanting to rip Eli’s smirking head from his shoulders like a pineapple off a stalk. Speaking of which: “What others have sat where I’m sitting?”
“The occasional drifter. You know. Hoboes, homeless people and the like. Charles likes to bring those in himself. He does enjoy the hunt. For instance, this chair your arms and legs are clamped into? With a press of a button it fully reclines, turning it into a table of sorts. I then let Charles do as he wishes.”